


Make It Any More Obvious

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Queer Character, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Friendship/Love, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Trick or Treat 2019, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-02 13:53:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: Richie couldn't find his head with a flashlight and three sets of maps on a good, clear day, so.So.Yeah, it maybe makes a weird sort of sense, then, cosmically or whatever, that Eddie's the one waiting for him by his building in LA, casual pink polo and all.





	Make It Any More Obvious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).

> Title very obviously from "Sk8ter Boi" by Avril Lavigne.

As far as adapting to changing times and conditions goes, the lot of them are troopers—taking life by the balls and all that shit, the Losers are. Except for Richie, that is, because, _apparently_, nothing can snap him out of whatever the fuck kind of funk he's in these days and make him jump on a plane to New York, or whatever the first step towards getting one's head out of one's ass about their newly-remembered best friend is. Richie couldn't find his head with a flashlight and three sets of maps on a good, clear day, so.

So.

Yeah, it maybe makes a weird sort of sense, then, cosmically or whatever, that Eddie's the one waiting for him by his building in LA, casual pink polo and all.

A laugh almost breaks out of Richie from somewhere near his sternum before he swallows it back down. He's not as quick to swallow down the sudden urge to make a run for it just to avoid whatever this is, but there's only so much denial one dude can hold.

He breaks out in a cold sweat out of self-defence, however, and tries not to focus too hard on what germaphobe Eddie would think about a sweaty Richie—what, exactly? What is Richie even going to do? His track record has him pegged as the biggest coward in the country. Yeah, him sweating through his pineapple-patterned shirt won't be an issue.

"Fancy running into you, Eds." He tries for nonchalant, but maybe hits on vaguely constipated if he's lucky. Eddie doesn't seem to notice.

He frowns. "Don't call me Eds." There's little to no traffic at this time of day, and his words are almost too loud in the three feet between them.

Then, because that's just the sort of thing Richie wouldn't expect, Eddie says, "It's been six weeks."

Richie's fully aware. "I know how calendars work, sweetheart." This is worse than Richie could have ever imagined. His shirt is stuck to his back and his mouth is getting him into trouble in new and inventive ways.

"Do you? Then how come I had to fly way too many miles to fucking LA to even know whether you're, like, still _breathing_, dipshit?"

Unsure whether it's a genuine question, or just Eddie being Eddie, Richie's brain scrambles for ways to stall. Pointing out there's social media and the rest of the Losers to fall back on if anyone were to need, for whatever reason, to figure out the exact state of Richie Tozier's life feels like it might get him strangled by default, so Richie nixes that idea in favour of staring vacantly for as long as socially acceptable.

Even if it's just Eddie being Eddie, though, it's the sort of thing which makes Richie squirm where he stands. His face warms up all along his cheekbones from more than just the dry heat of early September in LA and his fingertips itch to adjust himself in his pants. That's always been normal, though, only usually Eddie's attention isn't as laser-focused on Richie as it currently seems to be.

Richie's mouth is too dry when he says, "Sorry?"

Eddie scoffs. "You should be."

Then he launches himself in the general direction of Richie's body, and he must have meant to do so because, like, there's nothing else he could have been aiming for, there's not even a fire hydrant on the side of the sidewalk Richie's currently occupying.

Richie catches him more out of instinct, but he doesn't have any excuse as to why his arms encircle him or why his face searches out the hidden, damp patch of skin between Eddie's neck and shoulder, right underneath the collar of his stupidly tight pink polo. Then again, Eddie does the same to him, not even complaining when he gets Richie's moist, sweaty neck for his troubles.

Richie comes up with, "Oh," when he really shouldn't be talking. No one has ever needed him talking. He knows that for a fact.

But Eddie replies with, "Yeah, dipshit. _Oh_."

Well. That settles something then.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [rhubarbdreams @ tumblr](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/) if you want to share in my obsessions.


End file.
